


the voices won't leave me alone

by opheliahyde



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Amnesia, F/F, Gen, Identity Issues, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliahyde/pseuds/opheliahyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-s2: An encounter in the night, after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the voices won't leave me alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlsarewolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/gifts).



She doesn’t remember who she is or where she came from or why her clothes are stained in blood or why the scent of rot follows her everywhere. The voices in her head whisper, souls squirming inside her, packed in tight under her ribs like sardines in a can, burning wretched souls that jeer and taunt, laugh at her in the night as she travels down the road.

_You are no longer who you were, we won’t even speak your name, you are us now and only us._

She can’t escape them, even in her sleep, curled up behind some hill and trying to get a moment’s peace, a few scant seconds of rest, but her mind is a livewire, broadcasting a thousand lives, a thousand deaths, ugly awful suicides buried together in a mass grave, a thousand voices like an echo chamber screaming out for only one thing: vengeance.

 _You deserve it_ , they breathe from inside her ear, living in her lungs,  _help us and we’ll tell you your name and how you came to be ours, help us and you can have vengeance too._

Anger floods her veins and she can’t tell whether it belongs to her or  _them_ –if they’re right, if they’re all one and the same now, but the proposition appeals to her, makes her rotted heart flutter back to life and beat; the souls inside her writhe and shudder.

 _Hide_ , they shout when she feels the rumble of the motorcycle under her feet before she hears the roar of the engine, _hide_ , they try to yell over the sound, but she stills on the side of the road, lets the headlight wash over her as the rider stops before her and kills the engine, and the light goes off, leaving the two of them in the gloom of the night. The rider removes their helmet, and she gasps as the fall of raven hair, at the sight of dark eyes that make the souls inside her fear.

Her memory is fragile and faint, but the name comes on like a sudden blow, like falling and landing on her back as she comes nearer and her face becomes clear in the moonlight and shadow, both lovingly caressing the sleek lines and angles of her face.

_Santanico._

She launches herself at Santanico, snarling with her teeth bared and hands reaching towards her face, wild instinct encouraged by the chant of  _kill, kill, kill_  that fades off when Santanico grabs her wrists and holds her still, dark eyes flashing gold as she searches her face, like Santanico knows her too.

“What happened to you?” Santanico asks, not letting go of her wrists, even as she struggles and whines, spits on her throat, feels her insides churn, a feeling she can tell belongs just to herself, whoever she is.

“ _Kate_ ,” Santanico hisses; she feels herself still and stare up into Santanico’s eyes, her wrists falling limp in Santanico’s grip, her heart shake off the dust and pump back to life— _Kate_ , she thinks,  _Kate_.

Santanico lets her go and the voices begin to whisper again, _don’t trust her, you never did_. They’re quiet, just a rasp, barely alive. Santanico’s fingers pull out a few leaves from her hair, a few twigs, tap under her chin to make her tilt her head back; she watches her, eyes gone back to black, her hair free and picked up by the breeze.

“Come with me,” Santanico says, turning away and expecting her to follow, commanding laced tight in her straight spine.

She takes a few hesitant steps, toes the line of the road as Santanico gets back on her motorcycle.

Santanico reaches out a hand, tells her, “get on.”

(she remembers parked cars, harsh loud voices telling her to get out, remembers nights like this on the side of the road, a choice she refuses to make twice, sees the choice she has now, feels a little closer to herself near Santanico)

Santanico’s hand is cool in hers, smooth and soft, clean next to the dirt under her ragged nails, but Santanico closes fingers around her palm and helps her onto the back of the motorcycle, guides her arms around Santanico’s waist.

Santanico whispers,  _hold on_ , and she does, pressing her face against the cold leather of her jacket and feels the voices go silent.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://richiesseth.tumblr.com)!


End file.
